


Arthur in Wonderland

by teacuphuman



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Aromantic, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Gen, friends are family, not Valentine's Day centric, valentine's day au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 03:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13695717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: Sometimes Valentine's Day means something more than chocolates and flowers.





	Arthur in Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beginningwithA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beginningwithA/gifts).



> The wonderful hakkai_sensei asked me to write this fic for the lovely beginningwithA, and I am all about showing our dear friends love, so here it is! 
> 
> P.S. I had no idea it was for beginningwithA when I wrote it, so the Alice in Wonderland (idea courtesy of swtalmnd) is pure coincidence!

Arthur fidgets in the elevator, straightening his bowtie, adjusting his pocket square, and making sure every last hair is in place. By the time the chime dings and the doors slide open he’s jittery and light headed. This is his first time meeting Eames’ friends, and though Eames has assured him numerous times that he has nothing to fear from them, Arthur can’t help but feel out of his depth.

The door to the roof is propped open, and Arthur can hear laughter and music wafting in on the night breeze. It’s not a date, Arthur reminds himself, of that Eames had been explicitly clear. There were no expectations, no ulterior motives, just a group of people coming together to celebrate...well, Arthur’s not really sure what one celebrates on Valentine’s Day if you’re not celebrating love, or passion, or infatuation, or corporate greed.

Arthur has been standing, avoiding, procrastinating so long that the elevator chimes again and a tall blonde man in a gold hued suit steps off. He startles when he realizes Arthur is standing in the way of the door and has to reach up and adjust the furry, white rabbit ears on his head.

“Oh, hello,” the man says, his manner curious, but harmless as he looks Arthur over. “Great suit.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” Arthur nods sharply, smiling a little too late and too tight to be natural.   


“Come along, then,” the man tells him, grinning. “It won’t do to be late.”

The man brushes past Arthur and bounds through the door to a chorus of greetings. He hears Eames’ voice, and the warm tone of it calms him. It’s just Eames, he reasons. Eames, who has been nothing but courteous and understanding, even after Arthur explained, well, everything. 

Arthur likes Eames, they’re friends, and Arthur enjoys making his friends happy. Tonight is important to Eames and Eames is important to Arthur, so he will stop trying to talk himself out of this and walk through the damn door!

He does manage to get there, but it takes five more minutes and a lot more lurching than walking, and then Eames is coming towards him, arms outstretched and a delighted and surprised grin on his face.   


“You made it!” Eames exclaims, gripping Arthur’s shoulders. 

Arthur can’t stop the responding smile that breaks out over his face, and it’s genuine, if a little wobbly. “I did. I’m here.”

“I’m so pleased, Arthur. Thank you,” Eames tells him in a hushed voice, and then a stunning woman in a red sequin dress is pulling Eames out of the way.   


“You’re Arthur,” she says, her French accent light and sweet. “We’re so happy to finally meet you! Eames has been keeping you all to himself.”   


“Arthur, this is Mal,” Eames says, sliding his hands into his pockets.    


“Eames, his suit,” Mal says, smacking Eames’ chest with the back of her hand. “Mon Dieu, his suit.”

Arthur feels a flush building in his cheeks, but he doesn’t look away. He worked hard to put this ensemble together, and he very much enjoys praise, so he stands still and preens as the others come over to see what the fuss is about. 

In all honesty, the suit is a masterpiece. An English cut three piece in powder blue, Arthur nearly cried when he found it. It’s been hanging in his closet for over a year, just waiting for its moment, and Eames’ invitation, the role he required Arthur to play written in solid black print across the bottom, was the perfect excuse. He paired it with a snow white shirt, black bow tie, belt, and shoes, and a scalloped lace kerchief. All done, the ensemble works even better than he’d hoped.   


“He’s Alice,” a dark-haired man in a purple vest says. His shirt is half unbuttoned and the glitter on his chest matches the pink party hat on his head.

“Yes, Yusuf, thanks for pointing that out,” the white rabbit says, clapping the man on his shoulder. “I’m Dom.”

“Hello, again,” Arthur says, allowing Eames to pull him to the table. Eames is sporting pink and purple striped socks over black leggings and a matching pink and purple jumper. The tip and underside of his nose are painted black, and there’s a set of fuzzy pink ears on his head. “Kitty.”   


Eames laughs and pulls a chair out at the head of the table. “You like it?”

“You look very...soft,” Arthur says, reaching up to pet one of the ears.

“Alright, settle down you lot!” A young woman calls, banging an old shoe on the table to get their attention. She’s dressed in a shabby maroon tuxedo with a massive black and navy top hat perched on her head. “Everyone sit!”

Yusuf drops into the chair to his left and Eames settles into the one on his right, his foot tapping Arthur’s under the table. Mal and Dom sit on either of the Mad Hatter, and once they’re all seated, she throws the shoe over her shoulder and favours them all with a grin.

“Welcome, Arthur, I’m Ariadne, this year’s master of ceremonies. Eames, get our special guest a cup of tea, please.”   


“Oh, I don’t actually drink tea,” Arthur protests.   


Eames grins and holds a large bottle with  _Smaller_ written in looping letters on the label. “Whiskey,” Eames tells him, shaking a second bottle whose label declares it to be  _Taller_. “Tequila.”

Arthur purses his lips and pretends to consider his options as he picks up his teacup. “Smaller first, I think.”

“Excellent choice,” Yusuf tells him. “I always prefer to be smaller, myself. That is, until I feel the urge to be taller.”

“A sterling deduction!” Ariadne declares, filling her cup from the  _Taller_  bottle at her end of the table. “Does everyone have a drink? Good. A toast!”

“Rye!”

“Sourdough!”

“Pumpernickel!”

“Yes, yes, you’re all very droll,” Ariadne tells them. “Now, tonight we welcome a new member to our ranks. We’ve all heard plenty about Arthur and his dimples, and we are thrilled to have him here with us as our Alice.”

Arthur smiles and ducks his head, unused to having all eyes on him.   


“None of that at this table, monsieur!” Mal chides, raising her cup. “We take our compliments with grace and aplomb, for they are offered with the sincerest of intentions.”   


“Apologies,” Arthur murmurs, catching Eames’ eye and blushing.

“Now, we’re a queer bunch,” Ari pauses to give Dom, who is giggling into his sunflower teacup, an indulgent smile. “And some of us are certainly prettier than others, but that can’t be helped. We’ve come together today to celebrate the unity and unexpectations we hold so dear. To throw off social constructs and love how, and whom, we choose, for our affection cannot be contained to one single day a year or dictated by a chubby bastard with bird wings and an assault weapon.”   


“Hear, hear!” Eames bellows, rapping his knuckles on the table.

Arthur laughs as the others cheer, feeling more and more relaxed with every word of Ariadne’s speech.   


“Love isn’t overpriced flowers and bad cuts of sirloin at a restaurant so packed you can’t hear across the table. It’s not expensive perfume or cheap words on seven-dollar cardstock. It’s this,” she tells them, looking around the table. “It’s support and attention. It’s offering yourself to others and accepting them in return, no matter what parts of themselves they are willing to share. It’s a family that is chosen and bonded by ties stronger than blood. It’s being someone who makes others feel comfortable enough to be who they truly are and celebrating them for it. And sometimes it’s dressing up and drinking hard liquor out of bone china until you regret wearing a corset, but that’s all just window dressing. Because we are love, my dear friends, and tonight we bring another soul into the fold. So welcome, Arthur, we are ever so happy you are here.”

The others stand and clap until Arthur is grinning so hard his face hurts and he feels too warm in his suit.   


“Speech! Speech!” Dom demands, laughing.   


“Don’t overwhelm him,” Eames warns, but Arthur grabs his wrist, shushing him. He looks into Eames’ bright, happy face and feels extremely grateful for having the man in his life. He’s not usually one for speeches, but as he takes in the grass and flower table runner, the carefully iced playing card sugar cookies, the petit fours with Eat Me written in delicate white icing, and the game of croquet set up, complete with plastic flamingos as mallets and stuffed hedgehogs as balls, he can’t help but want to match the extravagance of the theme. 

“I’m not an eloquent speaker,” he tells them, looking from face to face. “But I’ll do my best. I want to thank you all, from the bottom of my fragile little heart, for not only inviting me here tonight, but for welcoming me so grandly. I don’t know if nights like these are common, but I kind of hope so, because I have a closet full of suits that deserve to be swooned over.”

He pauses as the others laugh and Mal lets out an ear-piercing whistle. “I know you all understand how lonely it can be when people don’t understand that someone can love differently and still have a lot to offer. That we still need love, and companionship, and attention. And friendship. And tequila.”

“Whoop!” Ariadne yells.   


“So, thank you, for...everything,” he finishes with a shrugs and a smile. The others applaud and then glasses and plates are being filled and conversation turns to other things.

Eames leans closer, tapping Arthur on the arm with his finger. “You’re a wildflower,” he says wisely.

“Am I?”

   
“Hmm, definitely. We are all are.” Eames holds up his cup.

   
Arthur grins and clinks his cup to Eames’. “Whatever we are, at least we’re all equally mad.”

   



End file.
